


Nine-Tenths

by theskywasblue



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: M/M, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-21
Updated: 2011-03-21
Packaged: 2017-10-17 04:28:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/172906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hakkai is possessive</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nine-Tenths

Hakkai is possessive – always has been, from the very earliest moments of his childhood, when he had nothing at all and had promised himself that if he could find the one thing he wanted the most, he would never let it go again.

For Sanzo, _hold nothing_ is a prerogative; for Hakkai it should have been a necessity. In Hakkai’s carefully constructed world, _to have_ means not only to hold and to cherish, but also to protect, to keep, to _possess_ wholly and completely to the point of danger. He digs his fingers into everything he perceives as his until his nails break the skin and all the blood pours out. What’s his is his alone, and what can never be his he covets relentlessly, to the point of obscenity.

Sometimes, he even has the good sense to feel guilty about it, despite that he just as often feels that he has paid the debt for his ego, right down to the last cent, in blood, tears, and a worn sliver of what might be called his soul.

“What’cha doin’ ‘kai?”

Gojyo’s voice is low, thickened with sleep and lust. It’s also just a little bit raw, scraped against the edges of Hakkai’s name and long strings of pleas for _more_ and _harder_ and _there – fuck yes_. The sound of it leaves Hakkai feeling warm; heavy with pride and satisfaction. Their bed is a ruined mess of rumpled sheets, wet in the most inconvenient of places, with very clear distortions in the fabric from the fierce clench of Gojyo’s fingers. The room is warm enough that even though their skin is bare and damp still, there is little need to cover up; in fact, Hakkai would want to open the window if not for the fact that it would let out the heavy richness of them that permeates the room. He wants to preserve that, for as long as he is able.

Gojyo is stretched out on his stomach, though it must not be entirely comfortable, arms folded under the pillow, eyes closed. His lashes are almost the same colour as the blush in his cheeks and his lips are bitten red and wet. His tongue slides over them periodically as Hakkai’s fingers trace over the lines of back – shoulder blades, spine, ribs – a steady pattern.

“Nothing.”

“Feels like somethin’.” Gojyo rubs his face against the pillow, sighs, “kinda tickles.”

“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t stop, however, and Gojyo doesn’t ask him to. In short order, he is asleep, and Hakkai times the motions of his fingers to synchronize with Gojyo’s breathing, so as not to distort the lines, damage the message.

 _Mine_ , he traces, in careful strokes across the back of Gojyo’s shoulders, under his shoulder blades, lower and lower still; _mine, mine, mine_. The words will leave no mark – he wouldn’t dare to press hard enough to achieve such a thing – but he will always be able to see them there, etched on Gojyo’s skin.

Hakkai is possessive. He holds everything close and hard, right down to its very essence, and Gojyo – well, Gojyo is content simply to be possessed.

-End-


End file.
